Fake Ray and Mama

January 24, 2018, Wednesday

So far, this week has been a crazy mess all because of Fake Ray. Well, and a bit because of Mama Kundayo. Real Ray wanted John to go with him back to the police to pursue justice, so those two spent a lot of Monday downtown, getting nothing much done. There is a detective assigned to this case, but he seemed very busy with other affairs and had no time to talk with Ray and John. However, he said he would come to Kundayo at 10:00 the next day, Tuesday, because he wanted to interview me as well.
That was fine with us.

Just before 10:00 on Tuesday, John and I went over to the garden terrace to be in place for the police visit. 10:00 came and passed, but being on time here is not the same as in Spokane. Still, when more than an hour had passed, John finally called Ray, who said maybe the detective could come at 1:00. By then, I was disgusted and said I wouldn’t be available at 1:00, but the detective could come again at 10:00 today, which he agreed he would. So, guess what happened today. The same no-show routine even though Ray told us that the detective was nearby in our neighborhood. John, of course, thinks the detective must have more important cases that take his time; I, of course, think he’s waiting for a bribe.

I felt held hostage these past two days, so by noon today, I was miffed enough to call an end to such foolishness and go to Fifi’s to escape the Kundayo compound and any police who might finally show up at 2:00 or 3:00. John and I had lunch, and then he went out on errands, while I sat with a café au lait (It was terrible!) and read until he returned. I also spoke with Leonica, a young woman who sells western style clothing made with African cloth in part of Fifi’s. (You can find her on Facebook at Afrileo Collections.) I would like to order some little outfits for Peri from her.

John didn’t return until around 5:00 p.m. so it was fairly late in the day until Ray got us back to Kundayo. Fortunately, the ride back was far smoother than our trip to Fifi’s, when in an effort to avoid a police stop, Ray drove all over on tiny little dirt back streets and even the wrong way on the double-carriage highway at least twice. Somehow we ended up near the Mount Meru Hotel, where Ray shot across all four lanes of the highway, scaring me nearly to death. I have never ever experienced such wild driving from him before! Even John admitted that he was a bit concerned about some of the maneuvers. Maybe Ray is taking a page from the boda-boda drivers who blatantly run red lights and drive next to and between cars whenever it suits them even right in front of police stops. Unless the police are also on motorcycles, they can’t catch the boda-bodas anyway. Rogers told me Sunday that now more people in Tanzania die each year from boda-boda accidents than from AIDS.

Next to the Mama Kundayo story for this week. I’ve laid low since not only do I not have many hours to sit and chat in our half understood English-Swahili pidgin, but I also feel uncomfortable about all the beverage “bribes.”  So, I didn’t sit with Mama on Monday or yesterday. However, yesterday at nearly 8:00 p.m. just after we had finished our dinner, she walked over to our apartment and sat down with us on our little front terrace area. Then, with John as a less than sufficient translator, we caught up on our latest news. Mama was having dreadful hip and back pain, so I gave her two of my Tylenol. Then, Mama called Beatrice, the clerk on duty, over to translate, and we began to talk about recipes. Mama’s chai with milk is the best I’ve ever had, and I wanted to know her secret. Suddenly, Mama wanted to know if I like mandazi, which of course I do. The next thing I knew, she had sent Beatrice to the kitchen to fetch about 8 freshly made mandazi for me. Then, Mama wanted to know if I liked Swahili food, like we had on Zanzibar. When I said I did, she sent Beatrice back to the kitchen to fetch some beef pilau and Swahili salad for me. What next? We had already eaten dinner, which featured the first ever macaroni and cheese I had ever made in Africa, but I knew I needed to eat some of these new food offerings, too. So, I did my best to eat what I could—John was not much help at all—and exclaim how good everything was although I feared this might encourage future food gifts. I remembered that last year we ended up having a special goat roasting. Who knows what might happen this year. I didn’t see Mama under her tree this afternoon. Dinner this evening will be leftovers from yesterday.

P.S.  Since I hadn’t seen Mama Kundayo this evening, I went out into the courtyard and asked Mazo how she was today. He said that she still had a lot of pain in her hip and back and had appreciated the pills I had given her last night. I wrote down what the medication was (generic Tylenol) because he wants to get some for her tomorrow. Less than 10 minutes later, Mazo was at our door with a container full of warm chapatis from Mama. She's definitely a very generous woman.